The dimly lit room buzzed with tension. Smoke hung heavy in the air, swirling around the players like ghosts of their pasts. The young woman, Jamie, sat at the table, her knuckles white as she clutched her cards. She tried to slow her heart to match the calming pulse of the sax man’s jazz sifting from the shadows.

More than money was at stake. On the table lay her mother’s locket and the deed to her dad’s bookstore. The man across from her, a shadow in a spiffily tailored suit, leaned back, revealing the glint of a gold tooth.

“Your move, Miss Jamie,” he drawled, his eyes never leaving hers.

Jamie’s mind raced. She had bluffed her way through the early rounds, but now she held but a pair of sevens. The river card lay face down, taunting her. She glanced at the pile of chips in the center. The locket. The deed. The sax man played a mournful tune. The players leaned in, grinning like a wake of vultures.

Jamie’s gaze shifted to the window. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the cobblestone streets. She remembered her father’s voice, teaching her the art of the game. “Poker is about more than cards,” he’d said. “It’s about knowing when to hold, when to fold, and when to go all in.”

The saxophone’s melancholy dirge drifted into something sweet, something vaguely upbeat, something hopeful if not true. Jamie took a deep breath, her fingers trembling. “I’m all in,” she declared, pushing her remaining chips to the center.

The gold-toothed man’s grin widened, shifted to a smirk. He flipped his cards—a pair of kings. Jamie’s heart sank. She turned over her sevens.

But then the river card was revealed—the seven of hearts. Jamie’s eyes widened. The man’s face twisted as if in rage, but then he nodded. “You got guts, girl.”

Jamie gathered her winnings—the locket, the bookstore deed—and stood, her legs wobbly. She slipped into the night.

Outside, the moon bathed her in its glow. Jamie clutched the locket, tears streaming down her cheeks. She glanced back at the closed door. The jazz music had faded to silence.

Quickly she turned the corner into the alley. There he was, not quite concealed by the shadows. He nodded. “We make a good team, don’t we girl.”

Arm in arm they climbed the rickety stairs.

Inside the simple room they found a patch of moonlight.

They found each other, hearts singing the same song, urgent at first, then sweet and slow, then deep and deeper, and finally, fully, all in.